|
|
|
The Cat Burglar by Mort M/K NC-17 Part Eight ~#~#~#~ For twenty agonizing minutes, Eric bounced the small motorbike over rough dirt paths, through an arid landscape dominated by desert sand and red-hued rocks. So Mulder spent more of those minutes cursing Alex for the enthusiastic sex the previous night than anticipating their destination. But finally the boy pulled the bike to an abrupt halt at the edge of a long-abandoned quarry. Stifling a groan, Mulder carefully climbed off the narrow, insufficiently padded saddle and tried not to wince as the boy indicated their destination not only required him to walk – which was an ordeal in itself – but to also climb down a rock face. He gave Eric an incredulous pout of disbelief. The boy just grinned. “It's through these rocks. It's down there,” Eric assured him, pointing downwards and gesturing for Mulder to move his ass. His incredibly *sore* ass. Cursing internally, Mulder surreptitiously tugged on the seam of his 501’s, which felt like they had now been surgically embedded into his aching crack, limped reluctantly to the edge of the path and, extremely carefully, made his descent. He decided that the first thing he needed to buy when they returned to civilization was a far looser pair of pants. “If you’re watching me, Alex, you’d better not be laughing your ass off,” he muttered under his breath. He flinched guiltily when his cell phone immediately rang and, convinced Alex had either heard him or read his mind, he glanced carefully around the canyon in search of his supernatural lover’s hiding place before answering. “I’m sorry,” he began, as soon as he flipped the phone open. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” an unexpected voice said. Mulder’s eyes widened in shock. “What the hell do *you* want?” he demanded angrily. “You're a hard man to reach,” the unmistakable voice of Cancerman replied. “Not hard enough apparently,” Mulder snarled. “Where are you?” Mulder blinked in disbelief. Did the bastard actually think he’d give away his location so easily? “I'm at the Betty Ford center, where are you?” After a slight pause in response to his sarcasm, a silence in which Mulder could picture the other man grinding his teeth in irritation, Cancerman replied in an artificially polite voice. “I need to talk to you, Mr. Mulder, in person. There are some things to explain.” Mulder smiled smugly. He was clearly rattling some cages. “I'll save the government the plane fare. I just need to know which government that is.” “Your father may have told you things, Mr. Mulder. I should warn you against taking those things at face value.” Mulder rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Which things are those?” “He was never an opponent of the project. In fact he authorized it. That's what he couldn't live with.” A chill shivered down Mulder’s spine at Cancerman’s words. Was *that* why his father had killed himself? Because of him? Because of his insistence on learning and exposing the details of the project his father had once been involved in? It wasn’t true. It *couldn’t* be true. It was just Cancerman’s way of trying to fake him out. Besides, he decided, even if it was true – which it obviously wasn’t – it still made no difference. The truth was the truth, no matter how unpalatable, and he wasn’t the kind of selfish hypocrite who would walk away from an answer just because the answer wasn’t the one he’d been hoping to find. The very fact that Cancerman was calling him was evidence enough that he was onto something *big*. “Now listen to me, you black lunged son of a bitch, I'm gonna expose you and your project. Your time is over,” he announced smugly. “Expose us and you only expose your father. Can you do that, Mr. Mulder? Can you betray your own flesh and blood just for the ability to tell tales that no one will believe? Whatever you find, or think you find, you’ll never be able to hold onto the evidence long enough to prove anything.” “If no one is going to believe me, why the hell are you panicking?” Mulder countered. “My father’s dead, you fucker. Nothing can hurt him now. Maybe *that’s* why he killed himself. So that I wouldn’t have to make a choice between loyalty and the truth.” “There are always choices to be made, Mr. Mulder. There’s always something or *someone* for you to lose.” “Someone?” Mulder repeated suspiciously. “Oh, let’s say for instance, Alex Krycek,” Cancerman suggested slyly. Another shiver trickled down Mulder’s spine at Cancerman’s knowing chuckle. “Alex who?” he blustered. “Don’t play games with me, Mr. Mulder. We all have secrets. Discovering your father’s secrets will hurt you more than you anticipate. Exposing those secrets will hurt my associates and myself. We like our secrets. Just as your Krycek likes *his* secrets. It would be in everyone’s interests for *all* these secrets to remain buried. Don’t you think?” Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was clearly pointless to continue denying his association with Alex, he decided. Besides, Alex could clearly take care of himself. “You’re playing with an empty hand as far as Alex is concerned,” he announced bluntly. “If you truly know as much about him as you’re pretending, you’d understand that you and your ‘associates’ might as well slit your throats as threaten him. Both actions are equally fatal, but the latter is going to be a hell of a lot more painful for you. Same goes for you threatening *me*. Hurt me and Alex is going to be pissed as hell.” Cancerman sniffed dismissively. “You’re nothing more than Krycek’s latest toy, Mr. Mulder, and he’s notorious for losing interest in his playthings the minute they lose the ability to please him. I had a nice long chat with Paul Jeffries about Krycek’s ‘affections’. Remember him, Mr. Mulder? The nice doctor who first introduced you to your new ‘friend’. He’s dead now, of course, but before his unfortunate ‘accident’ he told me some interesting facts about young Mr. Krycek.” “You killed Jeffries?” Mulder demanded. “I’m hardly going to answer that,” Cancerman scoffed. “The important thing is that Jeffries was a very enthusiastic and obedient ‘pet’ until Krycek lost interest in him. He was always on borrowed time and so are you. Krycek always breaks his toys and then abandons them. Normal human physiology can’t repair itself at sufficient speed to satisfy his needs, so no one is capable of maintaining his interest indefinitely. Should anything happen to you, Krycek will merely feel a brief moment of anger, possibly a minute or two of regret, and five minutes later you’ll be dismissed and forgotten.” Mulder quivered with outrage at hearing Cancerman voice his own subconscious fears that Alex’s interest in him was transitory. “If you know that much about him, you also know that Alex *enjoys* taking revenge,” he spat. “Maybe you’re right that he wouldn’t mourn me, but he sure as hell will never forgive anyone who steals his ‘toy’ before he’s finished with it. You can’t run from him. You can’t hide from him. Run as far and fast as you like, but he’ll still find you in your dreams. If you hurt me, you’ll never dare close your eyes again.” “He won’t waste time revenging your death,” Cancerman argued. “The world is full of other equally amusing playmates and my associates and I are ideally placed to provide him with those distractions. We can provide him with an endless supply of human ‘toys’. Even more importantly, we can offer him something that you can’t. His safety. The cancellation of the government termination order that’s currently hanging over his head.” His fingers tightening on the cell phone in anger, Mulder shook his head in vehement disagreement. “If the government was capable of killing him, they’d have done so by now. How the hell can you kill a man who can not only physically transform himself into any form or shape but can also instantaneously transport himself to anywhere on the planet?” he scoffed. “That’s not the point,” Cancerman replied, “and you know it. With our protection, Krycek would no longer need the ability to evade pursuit because there wouldn’t *be* any pursuit. Do you honestly believe he’d choose *you* over what I can offer him? Consider this, Mr. Mulder, and then ask yourself whether you still think I don’t understand who and what Krycek is. We *made* Krycek. We know *exactly* what he’s become. Cats are incapable of loyalty. Krycek’s completely self-centered, caring only about his own pleasure. Regardless of any efforts to satisfy him, he’ll *always* choose to make his home with whomever offers him the most pleasurable existence.” Although Cancerman’s words shook him to his core, Mulder shook his head in furious denial. “You’re wrong,” he insisted. “Whatever you bastards did to him, whatever instincts and abilities he now possesses, Alex Krycek is still a human being. He’s still, at his core, the man he was before you fucked with him. He’s *more* than he was before, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost his humanity or his capacity to love. And he loves *me*.” “If that’s true, then why are you willing to risk throwing that love away? Is the chance to discover old secrets better left buried worth jeopardizing your relationship with Krycek? Continue on this path and you’ll not only be risking your life and your father’s reputation but I’ll ensure that Krycek receives an offer he can’t refuse. His ‘affection’ for you is mere cupboard-love, Mr. Mulder, and *my* cupboard is overflowing with far more tasty tidbits than *yours*.” “Fuck you, and fuck your threats,” Mulder snarled, disconnecting the call and thrusting his cell phone back into his jacket pocket. ~~~ Cancerman listened to the dial tone for a moment, a strange smile playing over his features, then he turned to one of his black ops associates and raised an eyebrow in query. The soldier grinned and nodded triumphantly. “Sir, we got a co-ordinate. We’re ready to go.” "Let's go,” Cancerman agreed, climbing into the waiting helicopter. ~~~ Eric led Mulder to where a small earthquake had exposed a panel of dark, slightly rusted metal. Digging into the surrounding sand to further expose the buried metal, Mulder uncovered a plaque in the dirt which read ‘Sierra Pacific Railroad RTC - 567 480’. “This is a boxcar,” Mulder announced, frowning with confusion. He’d been expecting Eric to lead him to ancient relics or even evidence of a crashed alien spacecraft. Not a modern, obviously human-made, railway boxcar buried in the sand. Its inexplicable presence so far from any railroad was sufficient anomaly to convince him he was onto *something*, but it clearly wasn’t the secret he’d been expecting to find. “A refrigeration car,” Eric agreed, as they shifted enough sand to reveal an entrance. The hatch was stiff with age but, working together, they managed to force its rusty hinges to open and they peered down into the interior. The darkness inside was so intense that even with Mulder’s small pocket flashlight, it took them several moments to adjust their vision enough to identify the contents of the boxcar and, when they finally did, Eric scrambled backwards, gagging noisily. Mulder was equally sickened, but found himself climbing downwards into the box of horrors rather than fleeing with his young companion. The boxcar was full of bodies. Dozens of bodies. And each and every one of them had the wide-set overlarge eyes and triangular-shaped heads of the grays. What he had found, or seemingly had found, was evidence – hard, physical evidence - of the mass-murder of alien beings. He finally had proof of alien existence, but instead of feeling excited or vindicated he could only feel sickened and ashamed. Was this the secret his father had died to protect? The secret Cancerman was trying to conceal? Not that aliens existed but that the American government was guilty of genocide? Almost of its own volition, his right hand reached for his cell phone and dialed Scully’s number. “It's me,” he announced, when she answered. “Where are you?” “Nowhere I ever expected.” “What do you mean?” Mulder shrugged helplessly, at a loss to describe what he was looking at. “I'm in a boxcar buried inside a quarry. There are bodies everywhere.” “Bodies?” Scully repeated incredulously. “Stacked floor to ceiling,” Mulder confirmed. “What happened to them?” Mulder shrugged again. “I don't know.” After a brief silence, Scully carefully said, “Mulder, in these files I found references to experiments that were conducted here in the US by Axis Power scientists who were given amnesty after the war.” “What kind of experiments?” “Some kind of tests, on humans. What they referred to as merchandise.” Mulder flinched at the word ‘merchandise’, but shook his head in denial. “But these aren't human, Scully. From the look of it I'd say they were alien.” Scully hesitated, then carefully said, “Are you sure?” “I'm pretty damn sure,” Mulder replied, only to blink in sudden disbelief as his flashlight arced over something anomalous on one of the bodies. “Wait a sec...” he breathed, reaching for one body and staring in disbelief at a far too familiar mark high up on its left arm. “This one...has a smallpox vaccination scar.” “Mulder...” Mulder gagged as bile rose up in his throat. What had already seemed like a scene out of a nightmare suddenly had an even more sickening explanation than simple murder. “Oh my god, Scully, what have they done?” he gasped. ~~~ At the edge of the quarry, a small black cat lay sunning itself and purring quietly. As the late, but still powerful, sun’s rays bathed his body, the cat’s claws dug in and out of the sand in a contented, kneading motion. One eye was closed in ecstasy, the other remained open a slit to keep a lazy eye on the boy kneeling next to the open hatchway. At some level, the cat was curious to know what his human was doing inside the metal cave buried under the ground but, overall, the cat’s thoughts were dominated by the simple pleasure of sunbathing. He heard a far-off, low, approaching drone, and initially dismissed it as the noise of locusts, but the sound continued to increase in volume, moving swiftly from a vague annoyance to a deep, steady throb. Flashing his green eyes in fury, the cat scanned the horizon for the source of the noise, and in the distance he saw a faint black dot in the sky. Even as he watched, the object increased in size. Something was coming, something far larger and noisier than a flock of birds and, whatever it was, was disrupting the airflow and creating enough noise to hurt his sensitive ears. He growled, deep in his throat, and his tail began to flick irritably against the sand. Within a minute, the black dot was close enough to have formed the shape and substance of a helicopter and, although it was still far enough away to be still indistinct to human vision, the cat flattened his ears to his head to escape the deep, throbbing irritation of its approach. In this form, where instinct ruled and reasoning was secondary, the cat didn’t automatically identify the helicopter as a threat to himself or his pet, as much as instinctively hate it as a ‘bad thing’ because its presence disturbed the pleasurable peace of his sun-worship, and the noise as it approached was painful to his sensitive ears. The cat briefly considered eradicating the irritation by simply reaching out and swatting the helicopter into the ‘nothing’. What prevented him from doing so was less conscience than expedience. While, at some level, he understood that throwing the helicopter out of normal time and space would probably kill the occupants, he felt overall that the fact it was disturbing his afternoon nap was more than sufficient justification for him to ‘remove’ it from his vicinity. So although it was a ‘human’ part of his mind that prevented his arbitrary destruction of the aircraft, it wasn’t any moral consideration that swayed his instinctive urge to destroy it. What prevented him from taking any immediate action was his recognition that one of the people on board the helicopter was someone he’d visited from Mulder’s dreams. Spender. The man Mulder knew as Cancerman. A man whose thread was so tightly entwined with so many people on Mulder’s web of acquaintances. Spender was a man whom Alex instinctively hated and distrusted. He was, however, also a man Alex enjoyed visiting and tormenting in his sleep. He was, in his own way, as enjoyable a toy as Fox was. So Alex was loathe to kill him unnecessarily. Like any cat, he liked to toy with his prey. Catch it, hurt it a little, let it loose to run and imagine it might escape, then catch it again and play a little bit more. It was always a disappointment when his victims finally lost their entertainment value. So despite his vague sense of uneasiness at Spender’s proximity to his toy, not to mention the ear-flattening noise of the helicopter as it landed, Alex simply watched with interest as the doors opened and a small troupe of what were clearly black ops military poured out of the helicopter’s innards. Dispassionately, he witnessed Eric slamming the hatch to the boxcar shut and attempting to flee the scene, only for the boy to be caught and dragged back to Spender. If he had any thoughts about Eric’s predicament, it was only that he would have had *far* more fun with the terrified boy than the soldier had. *He* would have let the kid at least get to within a couple of feet of his motorbike, and the promise of escape, before pouncing. Fucking amateurs. Then he flicked his tail with irritation as the black ops guys moved to open the hatch that covered the entrance into the boxcar. It seemed that his pet was in need of rescue yet again. He yawned. Stretched lazily. Seriously considered letting his Fox try and wriggle out of the problem by himself. Just because he’d chosen to laze the afternoon away in Fox’s vicinity didn’t mean he was there to ensure Fox’s safety. It simply amused him to spy on his pet. He decided it wouldn’t even particularly bother him if Fox was slapped around a bit by the soldiers. Fox obviously *deserved* a slap or two for endangering himself, and if Spender’s goons drove that message home on his behalf, Alex wouldn’t have to move. Evening fell rapidly in the desert, and Alex was loathe to give up the little remaining sunlight just because his snoopy little Fox had clearly poked his overlong nose into somewhere he shouldn’t. On the other hand, those military guys were all heavily armed and none of them looked particularly friendly. It was possible one of them would be a little trigger-happy if Mulder was cocky with them. *If*. As if Fox would be anything *but* mouthy even with half a dozen rifles in his face. His tail thrashed against the ground in temper. Obviously he *was* going to have to pull Fox’s ass out of there after all or risk having to find and break in a new pet. With a low growl and a last reluctant look at the setting sun, he rose to his feet and then shimmered into the nothing. ~~~ The soldier climbed back out of the boxcar and, despite looking a little pale at what he’d witnessed inside, his angry confusion was clear. “He’s not in here,” he announced. Spender glared at him in disbelief, then shook Eric furiously. “Where's Mulder? I know he's here.” Eric just shrugged in obvious terrified bewilderment. The soldier shook his head. “No, sir. If he was, he's vanished without a trace.” Spender’s eyes narrowed in thought. Although he had no intention of climbing into the boxcar himself, he knew perfectly well what it contained. He doubted the soldier would have had the sense, or the time, to move the corpses and discover whether Mulder was hiding within them. Unless Mulder had somehow already left the site before they’d arrived. Unlikely, given that they’d had a clear view of the surrounding desert as they’d approached, but *possible*. Spender had long since learned not to underestimate Mulder’s ability to miraculously extract himself from life-threatening situations. But it didn’t really matter. Either way, the danger Mulder posed to the project would be solved by the destruction of the evidence. Even if Mulder had somehow escaped, he would soon have no proof of what he’d seen. Spender *did* glance around the deserted quarry, seeking something, particularly anything resembling a pissed-off black cat, but then he shook himself angrily at his over-active imagination. As he’d told Mulder, Alex’s attention span was very short as far as his pets were concerned. Mulder had already taken more of Alex’s time than any previous playmate. Alex was well overdue for a new toy, and Spender already had a perfect substitution in mind. If or when Alex came to him for vengeance, Spender was certain he’d be able to turn the confrontation into a singular opportunity. The abilities of a man like Alex Krycek would be a priceless acquisition for the project. “Nothing vanishes without a trace. Burn it,” he announced. One of the soldiers threw an incendiary device into the boxcar. It exploded and flames roared upwards from the open hatch. Spender and his men climbed back into the helicopter and left without a backwards glance. ~~~ ANCIENT ANASAZI CAVE A second or two after the hatch had been slammed shut above his head, Mulder had had a moment of wild disorientation, as something grabbed him around the waist – something his mind had naturally assumed was one of the corpses in that first panicked moment – and he’d lost both his cell-phone and his flashlight as he’d instinctively reached for his weapon. The boxcar had immediately been plunged into intense total darkness and then, kicking and screaming against the inhumanly strong arm holding him, he’d had a sickening, stomach-churning sensation of moving at intense speed through somewhere as bitterly cold as the vacuum of space, only to be brought to a halt in a place as dark as the boxcar but this time his surroundings were dank and chill, rather than stifling and hot as the boxcar had been. He also became instantly aware that his ‘assailant’ was Alex. Even in total darkness, Alex’s preternatural eyes had a brilliant luminosity that made them perfectly visible – although they appeared to be eerily floating in mid-air since Alex’s features were hidden in the intense blackness. “Where the hell are we?” Mulder demanded furiously. Totally unaware of the helicopter’s arrival, he was incensed that Alex had somehow ‘kidnapped’ him away from his discovery. Even the realization that Alex had somehow transported him through the ‘nothing’ with the same ease as which he moved Rolexes and bacon, was secondary to his desire to return immediately to the boxcar. Although definitely, at a later date, he was going to have to find out exactly what the limits were to Alex’s abilities. It seemed as though every time he thought he had a handle on Alex, his lover casually revealed another supernatural talent. “You seem to like dark, enclosed spaces,” Alex snarled. “Since you were supposedly searching for Anasazi relics, you should be pretty ecstatic right now because you’re currently standing inside one of their original caves. See the pretty paintings on the walls?” “I can’t see a damned thing. I dropped my flashlight in the boxcar when you grabbed me. I’m sure this is a great cave, and I’m impressed as hell by how you brought me here, but I don’t have time to play games with you right now. I’ve got to get back there, Alex, so do your ‘thing’ and take me back. You won’t believe what I found. I need to get hold of some local cops to seal the scene. I need to take pictures. Scully needs to autopsy one of the bodies...” “Tell her to bring a fine brush and a magnifying glass,” Alex suggested dryly. “What?” “It’s all gone. Burned to fuck. About two minutes ago. It’s burning so hot there’ll be nothing left but smoke and ashes.” Mulder startled badly, then shook his head in confused disbelief. Unless Alex had moved him through time as well as space he couldn’t see how Alex was telling the truth. Two minutes ago he’d been standing inside the boxcar himself and it sure as hell hadn’t seemed liable to spontaneously combust. On the other hand, he wasn’t self-destructive enough to call Alex a liar to his face. He decided not to worry about what kind of game was going on inside Alex’s pointy-eared head and concentrate instead on somehow convincing Alex to return him to the quarry. “Then you’ve got to take me back there,” he said firmly. “Right now. While there’s still a chance of saving some evidence.” “I just got you *out* of there,” Alex pointed out. “Just in time to stop you turning into a Fox kebab. And since I was *busy* at the time, a sincere and heartfelt ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be amiss under the circumstances. But for now, I’ll settle for a blow job.” Mulder’s whole body shivered as he absorbed Alex’s words. But he shook his head in confused denial. “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex narrowed his eyes angrily at Mulder’s tone, but he deigned to explain the situation regardless. He often forgot that his high-maintenance pet was also irritatingly inquisitive. Although he hated being asked to explain his behavior, he knew that satisfying Mulder’s curiosity was usually the fastest way to gain his co-operation. And he really *did* want a blow job. “While you were crawling around in that car, your smoking friend paid you a visit. And now everything you found is also smoking. Just as *you* would have been if I’d left you there. So, like I said, you owe me big time. I’m sure I’ll come up with a few ways you can thank me for saving your ass *yet again*, but getting down on your knees right now would be a good start,” he said, his tone a mixture of irritation and smug satisfaction. Mulder’s legs folded under him and he sank heavily to his knees. He remembered now that the hatch had slammed shut a few seconds before Alex had snatched him out of there, and now he was replaying the moment in his mind he remembered that there *had* been a strange loud droning noise outside the car in the moments before then. He’d been too absorbed by his discovery to pay attention at the time, but now he thought about it, he was pretty sure the noise had been that of a helicopter arriving. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the cave. He was gulping for air, but although his lungs and ribs were aching with his effort to breathe, he still felt so light-headed he could hardly think straight. “You’re hyperventilating,” Alex commented, his tone more curious than concerned. No shit, Mulder thought, as he struggled to control himself. His physical reaction wasn’t because of his awareness of how close he’d apparently been to death. It was the idea he’d almost *burned* to death. “I...I have a problem with fire,” he eventually gasped. “Good,” Alex replied smugly. “That means you must be feeling even *more* grateful I got you out of there. So while you’re down there on your knees...” Mulder *was* grateful, but it still frustrated the hell out of him that Alex seemed incapable of understanding that time was of the essence. He was willing to give Alex any number of blow jobs as thanks for saving his life – he didn’t doubt Alex’s version of events and, anyway, he loved having Alex’s cock down his throat so he didn’t even need an excuse - but they could have sex *anytime*. What was crucial right at that moment was recovering any evidence from the boxcar. “Alex, be serious,” he wheedled, rising to his feet. “What I’m talking about is far more critical than us having sex. You clearly don’t understand the importance of what I found. We need to get back to the quarry while there’s still a chance to...” “NOW,” Alex growled, the sound loud enough to thunder through the small cave and send a shiver of fear down Mulder’s spine as he remembered Alex threatening to end their relationship forever if Mulder ever ‘refused’ him. “I’m not saying ‘no’,” Mulder assured him hurriedly. “I’m just saying later. Please, Alex. I need to...” “NOW,” Alex snarled. “But...” Mulder began, only to stagger and fall heavily as, out of nowhere, Alex back-handed him across the face hard enough to knock him to the floor. Pain shot through his knees and up his thighs from the impact, and his jaw ached from the blow. He felt a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, suggesting that his lip had been split open. He was furious at the unexpected assault. But there was no denying he also felt a jolt of intense arousal. His dick leapt to eager attention and, for the second time that day, he regretted wearing such tight jeans. It was clear that Alex wasn’t going to take no for an answer and, despite Mulder’s panic over the rapidly disappearing evidence, he reluctantly admitted to himself that he would have been disappointed if Alex *had* allowed him to disobey the demand for instant gratification. Alex’s lust for him might have been inconvenient under the current circumstances but it was also pretty gratifying. It was proof, surely, that Alex was far from tiring of their relationship. Cancerman had been wrong in his assessment of Alex’s feelings for him. He hurriedly unbuttoned Alex’s jeans and eagerly nuzzled his face inside the opened denim, licking and kissing the hard, erect cock and the heavy balls, sniffing hungrily at Alex’s musky scent and moaning with unfeigned satisfaction as his darting tongue swiftly transformed Alex’s growls of irritation into purring pleasure. He nipped and nibbled at Alex’s sensitive foreskin, then licked delicately at his weeping slit, teasing him to even greater arousal until, with a guttural roar, Alex grabbed his hair and roughly mashed Mulder’s face into his groin, forcing the full length of his cock into Mulder’s mouth. Alex held Mulder’s head in a vice-like grip and began fucking his mouth with angry abandon, his heavy balls slapping against Mulder’s chin as his cock thrust in and out of Mulder’s soft, wet lips. Totally careless of Mulder’s need for oxygen, Alex fucked his throat until Mulder was glaze-eyed, spluttering, gagging and turning slightly blue. Mulder was also, Alex noted, so hard that his pants were straining at the seams. One of the little oddities of his pet was that he seemed to *like* being almost choked to death during sex. It was one of the things that made him particularly endearing, given how much Alex enjoyed a satisfyingly brutal mouth fucking. Still, it was less fun if his pet actually passed out during the process, so he eased back a little and allowed Mulder a single, desperate gulp of air before releasing his seed down Mulder’s throat with a satiated growl. Mulder nearly choked as the copious stream flooded his mouth, but still hungrily swallowed, even licking his lips and Alex’s entire genitals to ensure that every last drop of Alex’s come had been inwardly digested. He understood that Alex’s semen was a gift to him that he was expected to devour with eager gratitude. “Please,” he gasped, gesturing at his own neglected groin. Although it was so dark in the cave that he couldn’t even see his own lap, he knew that Alex’s night vision was perfect. Mulder’s need to return to the quarry was temporarily less urgent than the pressure in his own cock. He knew better than to touch himself without permission, but he was so close to the edge he was sure he couldn’t contain his own need to come whether he touched himself or not. To tell the truth, all he really wanted was permission to open his fly before he flooded his pants. It became a moot point when a clawed hand slashed down through the air and literally ripped the front of his jeans in two. The sudden release of pressure and subsequent waft of chill air against his groin meant he lost control completely. He barely had time to mourn the destruction of his 501’s – nor wonder how the hell he was going to get out of the cave half-naked – before his balls drew up and he erupted a stream of come onto Alex’s feet, like a supplicant offering worship to a deity. Without being told, he bent forward as soon as he’d caught his breath and carefully licked every trace of his come off Alex’s splattered boots. It wasn’t easy, given the total darkness, so he simply laved his tongue over every inch of the leather. Then he rocked back on his heels, gave his lips one last satisfied lick, rose to his feet and said, “Can we go back to the quarry now?” His question was first answered by incredulous silence, but then a low growl of obvious fury rippled through the close air of the sealed-off cave. Eyes widening with sudden wary fear,
Mulder quickly rewound the moment in search of what he’d done to piss
Alex off. He winced and cringed as he reconsidered the wisdom of his
words. Albert was on the phone when the armed black ops troops burst into his house. He barely had time to react to the invasion before one of the soldiers smashed his assault rifle into the face of Albert’s son and told Albert to kneel on the floor with his hands behind his head. With as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, Albert sank slowly to his knees. Moments later, Spender walked into the room, dragging a bruised and battered Eric in his wake. “I want to know where Mulder is,” Spender demanded. “I don't know,” Albert replied. “His car's parked outside. He was here. I want Mulder and I want those files.” “You will find nothing here,” Albert said. The soldiers began to trash the room, deliberately wreaking the maximum amount of collateral damage as they searched for Mulder’s files, but eventually shrugged their defeat towards Spender. Spender’s face twisted with angry uncertainty. He was almost certain Mulder had been in the boxcar, but ‘almost’ wasn’t good enough. Neither did it settle the matter of the missing files. Whether Mulder was alive or dead, the files were the true danger. He motioned to one of the soldiers to deal with Albert and strode out of the room, uncaring whether the soldier killed the old man or merely knocked him out. It was almost an hour later when Scully arrived. By that time, both Albert and his son had revived and were tending each other’s wounds. She listened in disbelief as they told her what had happened and shook her head in horrified denial as Eric described the events at the boxcar. She ran down to the boxcar to find smoke still pouring out of the opening. “Mulder,” she gasped, sinking to her knees and struggling not to cry. On the other side of the boxcar, a small black cat blinked slowly, his tail thrashing softly on the sand, his bright eyes absorbing the scene and considering its implications. It was clear that Scully believed Mulder had died in the fire. Which meant, presumably, that Spender and, more importantly, whomever he worked for, believed Mulder had died in the fire, too. Interesting. Until Alex could get to the bottom of who wanted to harm his pet and why, he decided it was best that Mulder remained ‘dead’. At least for the next few hours, while Alex paid a little visit to Spender. He gave one last dispassionate look
at the grieving Scully, shrugged lightly and walked away with his tail
high in the air.
|
